Shifting Tides
by SomeTrandoshanWithASlugThrower
Summary: An AU take on some stuff, with Trandosha joining in the Clone Wars, led by an enigmatic warlord known as Xossk, who proves his worth in a time of notorious infamy, well-respected heroes, and titanic battles. Can Xossk help win the war for his side? Can he survive in a world full of conflict, intrigue, and politics?
1. Shifting Tides Prologue, Part One

**Shifting Tides Prologue, Part One**

 **Authors Note: This is presented as a sort of AU, where Xossk ends up becoming the Leader of Trandosha, allies with Umbara (eventually) and manages to change the flow of history (somehow). I've never liked how the Confederacy lost, and even less of Palpatine playing them like a fiddle, so it may deviate from canon at quite a few points.**

...

It is said that the tides of War are chaotic, always shifting and swirling, never calm and steady in their movement. And this War proved no different to those gazing upon it. Two sides clashed, one composed of flesh and blood clad in white armor, led by Mystics who wielded shimmering, ethereal blades of green and blue light. On the other side, a vast mechanical horde that marched onward, a sea of robotic foes that replaced one fallen with ten more, led by a variety of individuals. It was foretold by the sole Dark Lord that either side would result in his victory, his dominance over the sages that had decimated his kin so long ago. But what if something clashed with his plans, what if a variable had not been accounted for... What if the single action of a world, nay, a being, could change entire Galactic history... In this place, shifting tides reign supreme...

 _Boiler of Blood, Protector of Kin_

 _Devourer of Foes, Savior of Comrades_

 _Mighty Gandussk Cast Your Shield Upon Me_

 _So I May Fight Another Day_

Loosely Translated Trandoshan Prayer, related to an ancient book of folk-history and blessings.

 **Trandosha, 14:23 Hours, Galactic Standard Time, 21 BBY, First Year of the Clone Wars**

On the arboreal planet that held a race of man-like lizards, there was nothing but jubilation, parades and parties going on, for the historical moment that recently occurred. Only five hours had passed, and with the yoke of the Republic off the planet's neck, they went about their current business... As various Trandoshans proceeded with festive gatherings, each one eating and drinking to their hearts' content, one current individual wasn't in the same joyous mood as they were, but instead aggravated, now waiting two hours. Such was the way of life, that the Trandoshan nearly tripped over something, glared downwards, and snarled in annoyance. His... Predecessor, a Human Senator sent to govern their world (thanks to the Republic's dislike of his race), laid sprawled on the floor, his guts spilled on the floor (after he had tortured him into resigning the world and admitting his corruption). The weapon that had ended his pathetic miserable life currently impaled the corpse's bulging, thick neck. Dark. Blood-stained. A Trandoshan's Warblade

Of course, it wouldn't be that easy, would it. Growling as he left his thoughts to recollect, he ripped the weapon out of the man's neck. Clotted blood lazily dribbled out of the large tear now, as he tenderly placed it back in the shoulder sheath he wore. Signaling to two guards, both B1 Battle Droids walked over, and dragged his sorry carcass away, the Trandoshan glad to see the Human body gone. Lazily, his tongue flicked out, the air tasting like stingy iron and ozone, one of the guards was still fresh. An unsettling grin decorated his face as he reached for the dead Quarren's hand, which had been separated from its owner by his blade. Pulling the hand away, he snapped off the fingers with a sickening crack, and popped them into his mouth, chewing slightly before swallowing. It tasted like what he expected, squid-like and salty, the nice wet pop of bones breaking and juicy flesh tearing. Wiping his hands on the dead Nikto bodyguard, and turned slightly, seeing the chiming holo-communicator-a rather well-sized one for that matter, set in the middle of the room. He then tapped a button on a small terminal in front of him...

The holo-communicator flickered for a brief second, before an image (only colored a translucent blue) appeared in front of him, obviously a Human male, his beard almost knife-like in its shape. He wore simple light robes with a fastened cloak placed on his shoulders. To some, this man was a former Jedi Knight. To others who gazed upon his visage, he was a Sith Lord, master of the Dark Side. But to the Trandoshan, he was simply Count Dooku, a wealthy Human from some Mid-Rim planet, and leader of the Confederacy of Independent Systems... And as of now, his commander...

"Xossk, what is your report on Trandosha?" The calm, collected voice that spoke to him was underlaid with a hint of aggression, not wanting to waste any time with failures.

Xossk merely responded with a rumbling click at first, before continuing, his voice giving the speech an exotic accent to it. "Yesss, Count Dooku, I have ssucceeded with Trandosha, and now all on thisss planet claim allegiance towardss You. The Ssenator is dead, and any loyal sympathizerss of the Republic is ssuffering a fate worze than Death." The accented voice was rather exotic, and it took all of his focus to speak Basic as best as he could to the Count, and although this meeting was important, he'd much rather watch his fellows gut the Republic Loyalists and leave them for the Nekchaka*. But he was getting ahead of himself, and his brief thoughts ended as the Count finally spoke, another question for him to answer.

"Where is the Jedi they sent to protect the Senator? Your reputation seems to be lackin-" Xossk merely gave off a toothy, feral grin, and before the man could finish his words, he stepped aside, revealing the Lorridian head of the Jedi he was referring to, missing its eyes, tongue, and nose, baring teeth and claw marks on some of the sounds. The Count merely stopped his sentence, watched the head for a second, and focused on the Trandoshan again, the workings of a sly smile on the Count's mug.

"So it seems you are quite the Jedi-Killer, Xossk. I must retract my impression of you for it... But it does not mean I will think any more highly of you, for you to just earn my respect, Trandoshan." The words with spoken with slight malice, and Xossk bent his knees, bowing down to his superior in devoted respect, the Count having a pleased expression at the Trandoshan's loyalty. Rising up again, he understood what the Count meant completely, and stood at attention, listening to the Count as he went on.

"Captain Xossk, as part of your new duties, you will lead Trandosha, and you can appoint a Senator to Raxus. As for corporate sponsorship, my allies, Wat Tambor and Poggle the Lesser have wished to contact you soon, to set up facilities on Trandosha. You will also command a Fleet of four vessels, and be a ground commander of Confederate forces..." The Count grinned slightly, his face contorting with malicious glee as he spoke on. "And of course, you are needed. A fleet in the Token system is to link up with yours, take the planet and establish a beachhead for attacking the Mid-Rim. I suggest you do not disappoint, Captain, for there are worse things than death..." With that said, the Count flickered out of existence, and Xossk mulled over for a second, before shutting the communicator off, and walking away from the object, eventually reaching a large bedroom. Using the in-building comlink, he summoned five individuals to the extravagant (overtly for his taste) place, three of them turning out to be red-scaled Trandoshans, all male, a dark greenish-gray female Trandoshan, and a black-scaled, medium-height Saurin male, bearing the trappings of a priest, as they gathered around Xossk...

He felt his clothes fall away from his body. The male Trandoshans gathered around him, anointing his body in scented oils and lotions and powders. The role of Warmaster fell to him, the first in five hundred years, and he would bear the mantle alone. He will fight for the Confederacy whole-heartedly, if only to destroy the foul, xenophobic, craven Republic and protect his people. But not before nailing the various Republic senators to a wall, his hatred for them greater than it's masses. When they had turned their eyes from Trandosha's plight, as pirates killed and skinned Trandoshan citizens, their hides turned into clothing and personal wear, they earned the right to die a slow, gruesome death. It sickened him that they only interfered when Trandosha had paid their "Taxes" to the festering hive of scum known as the Senate. He felt the males finish, and the female Trandoshan began to dress him in the holy, sacred armor. The males assisted by helping to lift each piece of armor up onto him. The priestly Saurin, of course, was blessing him and every piece of armor, in the ways of the Old Traditions. The battle-hardened armor was fitted unto him, made of "Trandoshan" phrik and decorated by light blue symbols, runes and markings, all inscribed onto every section of the ancient armor. His armor proved a dark pine-green in color. Finally, it was finished, and he stared at himself, plate-like armoring protecting his body and radiated power and strength. A snarling smile was adopted, in which he then he fitted on the helmet. The facial section of the armor resembling a Qwauva, most of the mask covered in more of the same symbols as before. The demonic face stared at him when he had chosen to examine it beforehand, and then rose, to his full height. He snarled in approval, for now he was like the War-Masters of old, Trandoshan Warriors who had led entire conquests and campaigns. But his armor came from the most famous of all, Gandussk, who led the second most popular religion on Trandosha. In legend, he fought off fifty Sith and their army for days, managing to protect an entire Trandoshan city. And when his comrades returned, all they saw was his armor, his blade, and the mangled remains of the Sith and their warriors. Some whispering that he had ascended as a God himself, now worshipped when they made war and battle, prayed to when on long campaigns to die as gloriously as he did...

His helmet lit up, the ancient battle-armor modernized with current updates, a HUD flickering into view, as well as miniature armor cams integrated in the armor itself. One rumbling click of approval sounded from himself, and he stepped out of the room, onto the spacious balcony and accompanied by B2 Battle Droid bodyguards. Trandoshan masses were screaming and howling in approval. His grin suddenly widened, toothy smile revealing itself... With every word he spoke, they were riled up even further, ready to fight the Republic to their deaths... The Republic shall know the fury of the Trandoshans, and with it, the force of the Confederacy behind it...

* * *

Nekchaka: A nuna-sized arboreal insect, normally a bright blue in coloration and bearing resemblance to Mantid species. Its arms are closer to appearing as scythes, and is known for "seeing" with a thermal-sensing organ in their heads, covered by two movable plates. They are known for being swarm predators and very deadly to unprepared hikers and adventurers.

Qwauva: Demonic spirits in the Trandoshan lore, often resembling twisted humanoid figures, somewhat mammalian in construction. Studies suggest this legend may have been brought about as a result of Trandoshan folklore about a crashed colony of human explorers (none are so far confirmed to be alive.)

Gandussk: Legendary warrior in the Trandoshan Mythos, believed to have "ascended to the Gods" after battling fifty Sith Warriors and their combined army, with him mysteriously disappearing and the remains of the Sith and their armies. Curiously enough, no genetic remains can be found of him currently, despite well-established records of his existence, and there was indeed an extremely similar attack well-known in Trandoshan history. For now, many speculate him to be another legend of the universe, a small one in a place chock-full of larger ones.


	2. Shifting Tides Prologue, Part Two

**Shifting Tides Prologue, Part Two**

* * *

War. While some races despised it, others viewed it as vital to business. Other species continually practiced it. However, to the Trandoshans, it was their religion. Karnaks, the priests that made up the religion of Tushana, spoke of it nightly, sharing tales and legends of valorous, mighty warriors leading armies against each other to decide the course of history. Of sieges where every defender died to the last. Of invasions where the fruits of wars had become theirs to enjoy. Cultural history had viewed those willing to fight as mighty, whether it be the elderly, infirm, or child, Those too cowardly or scared to fight as weak-willed worms. Even the children practiced, fighting each other and learning how to use their claws and teeth, and partaking in the Alask'al* when they would be old enough. The Republic may have stopped it in favor of promoting the "peace" they promised to the planet, but rage boiled in the veins of Trandoshans, and what higher virtue to aspire to, then to become war-like and mighty. Although the swords, the spears, and the bows of the past had faded into dust, blasters were rejected, far too weak for a race that prided the spilling of blood. So instead, Trandoshan technology had advanced in a different direction, utilizing kinetic weaponry, far more suitable to both the home-made militias and grand armies that were now assembling in the Mor'Akka Starport*, awaiting their turns to board the shuttles that led to glory.

Each Trandoshan was now clad in a dark green "uniform" of sorts, both moderate armor plating and fabric designed to protect against both blaster fire and light kinetic impacts, paired with armoring for the limbs, and a helmet similar to that of the old coal scuttles adorned their heads. Most held a "slugthrower", known informally as the Hellriekel, resembling a wood and metal blaster, with a drum magazine and wooden stock, and metal frame. The others preferred their "boomstick", two barrels of close-combat 12-gauge designed to rip through the armor plating of light vehicles with horrific ease. Never the less, all of them, whether they be from the arboreal militias, or the standing reserve armies, or even those on duty, had only one thought in mind, to fight gloriously for their home-world, and for the Warmaster* that had brought them freedom.

They were not alone, however, as vehicles had also waited for their respective turns to board as well. Resembling dark steel-gray boxes and dark green "boats", these were its mighty armored divisions, better known as the Aquka*-class Heavy Tank, and the Wilqa*-class Heavy Assault tank. While they resembled primitive, old "tanks" that were nothing but deathtraps, these were just on par as the Republic's walkers, trading sleek designs for raw utility, power, and durability, designed to go through the worse of environments and combat zones, and still come out on top.

However, what would be most impressive was the aerial craft the Trandoshans had brought. Due to the amount of forests on their world, and relative lack of open spaces, Trandoshan history had abandoned the usage of traditional aircraft except as transport and support. Instead, they had created and refined an impressive war-machine, capable of moving in any direction, bringing supplies and reinforcements to allied forces, and death from above to its enemies, capable of serving in many functions... Known as the Black Adder-class Assault Helicopter*, the Death Serpent-class Support Helicopter, and the Golden Hydra-class Heavy Assault Helicopters, each were just as advanced as the Republic's LAATS that terrorized the Confederacy, each utilizing repulsors, while also using a rotary-wing design that enabled them to pivot in the air. Having proven their success for countless years as the watchdogs of the sky, they would now become Olangs* of death to the enemy.

* * *

Shuttle Bay 09, Fourteenth Battalion, Third Regiment, "Durasteel Brigade"...

Waiting in the orderly, neat lines was hell for the Trandoshan woman that stood quietly. Having been recruited just recently due to the draft having been installed by the Warmaster, she had been given her uniform, her helmet, and gun, and trained rather quickly. For what it was worth, her time in the militias meant she was battle-experienced to a degree, and her comrades, although not the children she had grown up alongside with, took to her rather quickly. It helped that the Warmaster himself had pushed for the modernization of the military and installing equal rights for all Trandoshans, and his popularity had skyrocketed, for the warrior women of old were a fond tradition passed down by the Karnaks. Whatever existing prejudices that had once been present died off quickly when the newly-recruited female members of the military more then proved their worth. Besides, in a time of war, division only promoted death, and unity promoted the chance for another day to live.

So, now she stood, in the most esteemed Regiment on the planet, the one where the legendary Warmaster had come to glory against an incursion, holding off a massive invasion of pirates, dregs, and other criminal scum with only a handful of men. And then, after fighting them in guerilla-style combat, managed to slay their leader and cause the band of invaders to in-fight. All of this, at the ripe age of 21. Some had even said mighty Gandussk had come down from the stars to lead them to glory, and while the Warmaster humbly rejected this claim, it only added to his reputation as being akin to a hero of the old epics. Which is why the Warmaster had, in all of his humble nature, came to personally see each one off, shaking many hands, and speaking to many more voices.

She could still remember gazing at the Warmaster himself, noting how his voice was steeped in both respect... and sadness, like it was a goodbye. Of course, death was a possibility, and while the majority would forget their sacrifice, he would not. Thus, as he shook her hand and offered her the best of luck, she had clasped him in a hug, aware of how many others have done it. To some, especially the Trandoshan man standing at her right, he was there for them when nobody else was, personally pulling them out of the muck and bringing them home. Even though it seemed awkward for the Warmaster, he had given a hug back, and it was obvious his men brought him happiness, for they were the children he could never truly have, not after his own tragedy from those accursed Jedi.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the B1 Battle Droid called for their line next to board. Holding her gun as the rest of the formation did, they marched up the ramps, sat down on hard, unyielding seats, and waited for the shuttle to depart. Finally, after several, long seconds, the B1 Battle Droid aiding in take-off gave the signal, and the shuttle departed, one of hundreds that were leaving various hangers across the world.

* * *

Private Hanger Bay, Trandosha...

Xossk stood silently with his hands clenched behind his back, watching through the window of a private hanger that overlooked the armies that were boarding., now down to a measly few waiting for the shuttles that moved forces into the ships they were assigned to. Some of these men he had known in his time as a Grand Colonel of the Armed Forces, having been there for them, to comfort them when relatives passed on to the Last Realm*, to bring them joy as they wed or brought new life onto this planet. And ultimately, he knew most would die, for that is reality and the truth. Yet, it did not destroy his faith in the religion that almost every Trandoshan on this planet practiced, but rather reinforced it, for it was up to him to make those losses have meaning, to ensure that these men would not die in vain. Having spoken with the 'Respected and Venerable' Deacon Grakull*, the Saurin that had earlier blessed him, only minutes before, Xossk had prayed for his souls of his men, that they would die strong and unyielding like true heroes of the Trandoshan faith that had gone on. Yet, now a new topic came up to seize his mind and thoughts alike...

The Confederacy. He knew, ultimately, that it was the right cause. Although he despised Nute Gunray and those insipid fools of the Banking Clan, Wat Tambor and Poggle the Lesser had turned out to be delightful, intriguing allies. The same as Count Dooku had been. Although he knew the Honorable Count was not entirely fond of aliens, he could forgive that error, for the Count himself had proven his worth more then once, when Xossk was but a little-known Warlord of the Wuzdauko* region, and the Count reinforced his ailing ranks with those creations of steel and metal that aided in his great victory.

Wat Tambor had promised to set up the Techo Union on his planet, the same with Poggle the Lesser's Baktoid Armor Workshop. This would aid in modernizing the people that he had fought and sacrificed so much for. Even his time as a Warlord was spent to help them, for his people were left to die by the Republic, who could only care about those like themselves, or the wealthy few that paid their way into being protected. The wealthy few Trandoshans, obese and fat off of their servant's toil, misery, and food, were the first to be slain by him.

And then, of course, the hated Jedi came up next. Oh, how he had loathed them so, for they had taken much from him. His first rebellion was put down by those kriffs, his wife slaughtered and young child taken as a member of the Jedi, only to die while he was in chains, murdered by a maddened Jedi Knight. Only Dooku had spared him from his appointment with the headsman and meeting his family in the afterlife, and enabled his second, and ultimately successful rebellion, and for that, he owed a life debt to the man. Although a few Jedi were of solid conviction and of the old guard, many were simply corrupt or foolish to realize the error of their ways, needing to be put down like maddened Akk Hounds... Xossk finally stopped himself from growling, and moving back his focus onto the assembling army, only to see them board the last remaining few shuttles. They rose in the air, flying away into the skies and heading for the ships docked in low orbit. His hands had returned to his sides, and he turned, seeing two B1 Battle Droids marching forward and pausing in their steps, one of them speaking...

"Sir, the Shuttle is ready to depart to Gandussk's Blade, any last items of worth needing to be fetched before departure?" Its tinny voice caused Xossk to let loose a slight chuckle, admiring the droids, for while they were built... cheaply, their nature could not be helped, and they were loyal to the cause, more than most men of flesh and blood. He quietly shook his head to signal no. He began to walk to the shuttle bay, escorted by the B1 Battle Droid and its companion from earlier. The Sheathipede-class transport shuttle idled, the ramp having been extended already, ready for boarding and departure. Taking a seat on-board the vehicle, he noted its comfort, and vowed internally to refurbish it, for comfort was for soft, warm-blooded things, not him. Sitting shotgun and peering through the window of the shuttle, Xossk could no longer see the hanger, but the clouds, and then the black embrace of space, and the view of stars...

And hanging above the planet was his Fleet (although it was officially a Section). Composed of a Lucrehulk-class Battleship named the Shield of Trandosha, a Providence-class Dreadnought named Gandussk's Blade, and two Recusant-class Light Destroyers named respectively the Spear of Wak'nah* and Bow of Wuk'nah*, Xossk knew that Trandosha had great importance to the Separatists, being a valuable planet in the Mid-Rim, and able to open up the heart of the Republic to bleed. Landing in the Hanger Bay, Xossk quickly departed, and headed straight for the bridge, managing to reach it as his ships formed in a defensive position. They were readying for hyperspace and willing to jump once they were cleared to do so. Overlooking the stars themselves, Xossk had found the tactical droid that would serve as his aide. He had named him after the legendary adviser to Gandussk himself, Ru'nak* the Wise. Xossk immediately opened up the comms channel to speak to all of his forces.

Confederate forces alike paused, to hear his rousing words, for the Trandoshan was well-known for his speeches. Even the droids, of cold, unfeeling metal, could feel the energy and passion behind his words, the honesty and truth. He would not bend the knee, he was no weak simpleton, but rather a brutal, but effective leader, willing to die for his men, and that was why he became so loved by his men...

"Today, Men, on the eve of this sacred day, in which Gandussk, the mightiest warrior of our race, my blood-ancestor, and the heroic Warmaster of our kind, gave his life so that we could continue on. Invaders, like the Republic we now face, had assumed our race was weak, and sought to conquer us as though we were sheep. Yet, Gandussk refused to bend the knee. He fought so hard, the Gods themselves had raised them to their level, so truly mighty, brave, and glorious was he. Now, men, comes the time where we will again fight for our survival. Not just to live on, not just to see another sunrise, but to fight so that our culture, our very way of life continues. No longer will the Republic demonize our race, no longer will they skin our men, rape our women, butcher our elders and enslave our children, not a moment longer that this... Republic will turn us into another begging fool. NO! We will Stand. We will Fight. No longer, my brave men! No longer, for now we take the Fight to Them! To Arms, Men! To Glory! "Till Slekak comes for us herself to bring us to the Last Realm and Halls of Glory," he said, his deep voice rising in volume in a battle cry. "Who will stand with me and fight?" he shouted. "Who will be brave enough today to charge into the heart of these corrupted monster and impale their black, putrid heart with steel vengeance! Today we show the galaxy our glory and power, today men we shall become victors! Now...who's with me!"

Xossk could hear the roars and cheers of his men, a toothy smile having broken out on his face, as he joined alongside them. Even the Gulams* had joined in on the cheering, for they were excited by the sheer power of his words. Xossk gave the signal to Ru'nak, and then the glorious Fleet jumped to hyperspace, heading to the Token system to assist in the breakout of the Confederate forces there, and to assist the relief fleet...

* * *

Glossary

Karnaks: Priests and Story-tellers of the traditional Trandoshan tree-villages, they often passed down legends and history via wood-carving and oral storytelling.

Alask'al: The traditional coming of age ritual for Trandoshans, often sent into the arboreal forests to reclaim the head of a beast, with only a plain knife and no coverings. Most would come home with that of ordinary beasts, but Gandussk and Xossk were of a few who had slain a Rancor (brought by human pirates during the old day, and established a breeding population), and brought back its teeth.

Mor'Akka Starport: The biggest starport on Trandosha, found in the biggest city. Well-known for its beautiful stained glass windows depicting the epic of Gandussk.

Warmaster: A military "rank" in the armed forces, often considered to be a Grand General, and total leader of naval, air, and ground forces alike. The best example was Gandussk, who become the first ever Warmaster during the Sith Invasion, and led several counterattacks.

Aquka: The Goddess of Thunder, known for being married to Wilqa, and aided the mystic hero Gandussk when he came to them for aid against the First Invasion, helping produce what was now known as the "slugthrower."

Wilqa: The Goddess of Lightning, known for her marriage to Aquka, and aided the mystic hero Gandussk as well.

Helicopter: A rotor-wing aircraft, popularized as gunships, and used to great effect by the Trandoshan Armed Forces.

Olang: An olang is considered to be the Trandoshan version of an angel in their religion, uplifting dead warriors to the Last Realm.

The Last Realm: A place where dead Trandoshans constantly fight and make merry, die, and come back again.

Grakull: A known Saurin deacon on Trandosha, responsible for rallying Trandoshans behind Xossk, as well as officially blessing him.

Wuzdauko: A region on Trandosha, known for being defensible due to its hard to penetrate arboreal forests and high concentration of hostile wildlife, as well as the birthplace of Gandussk

Wak'nah and Wuk'nah: Twins who served respectively as the Second Warmaster, led a mighty crusade during the time of the Old Republic and reached towards the Inner Rim before being slain by Jedi after killing five of the order.

Ru'nak: The legendary adviser to Gandussk, as well as being well-known for killing a Sith Lord with a mere kitchen knife, he grew to the old age of seventy, and brought Trandosha into a golden age.

Slekak: Trandoshan Goddess of Death and the most important Goddess in the Trandoshan pantheon and second-most powerful, known for bringing the dead into the Last Realm. Considered to be Gandussk's wife, due to him having been personally ascended by her and then wedded.

Halls of Glory: Overseen by Gandussk, this is where the most mighty and brave Trandoshans (and even non-Trandoshans if they become worthy) go to fight and make merry. Only those of worth will enter, for none others shall be allowed inside.

Gulams: Droids. Often used as a Trandoshan alternative to the commonly-accepted name for them, and as a sign of respect for those that would fight on in the Clone Wars.

Thank you for reviewing my fanfic Hibbi, and for those loyal readers waiting for it to update, I'm sorry it took so long, but here it is at long last. Enjoy.


	3. Shifting Tides Chapter One

**_Shifting Tides Chapter One_**

 ** _Token System, Ferrow IV, 22 BBY…_**

Xossk calmly stood on the bridge with his hands clenched behind his back, watching the tunnel of hyperspace through the viewport, awaiting the coming battle for control of Ferrow IV's space. The planet itself was minerally rich, and served as a vital outpost into the Outer Rim-Mid Rim border, allowing anybody who possessed it to move forces between star systems with ease. Currently, the world was now being fought over by Separatist remainders under the direction of Colonel Niy Cikku, and the invading Republic army, led by Commander Tolan and Jedi Knight Iwob'lamel. A Republic blockade had hanged around the world, ensuring that the Separatists would be on their own, ground down by attrition. Of course, the Confederacy had sent a fleet to assist in breaking said blockage, but it was running into trouble, and the recent holocall from a worried Ensign notified him of the previous commander's death.

So, with his ally's fleet now retreating to a holding position, Xossk had begun to plan out his assault. He had the rest of his fleet split off, waiting in position to jump at his signal. Seeing the tunnel of hyperspace finally end and the reveal of the planet and its Republic blockade, his ship, Gandussk's Blade, had arrived, and fell into formation with the remaining two Munificents and Recusant. Wreckage, presumably that of the former Providence which had once led this fleet, floated in the cold void, dark and lifeless, like a corpse. But it mattered not to Xossk, for he had a different goal in mind, for the forces on the surface needed reinforcements and supplies direly, and every minute the blockade stood, another soldier was lost.

Thus, it was up to Xossk now to break this defensive formation, and he had no intentions of failure. As systems readouts read all green and reported the launch of droid fighters, he had opened the fleet's holocomm channels, communicating with their captains and asking them to follow along in his plan. Speaking rather quickly as batteries from both sides exchanged fire and fighters from both sides engaged in furballs, it was agreed upon to follow Xossk's plan, for he merely wanted to feint a charge, and force the blockade to open up its defenses. All four ships began to line up in formation, the two Munificents on the outside, with the Providence and Recusant acting as the spear-tip to pierce the heart of the blockade.

Weapon systems from each ship had begun to open up on the Republic's Venators, as the Separatists had charged, concentrating fire on the enemy Venators, seeming determined to ram their ships into the enemy. Republic forces, once having grown confident of their victory and desiring to finish the enemy once and for all, began to split, afraid of being rammed into by the apparently-suicidal enemy fleet. With the Republic forces now having moved out of the way, separate and confused from the charge as bridge crews scrambled to their positions, the Separatist fleet again concentrated fire on a specific Venator, bringing its shields down to twenty percent before it had even returned fire.

Phase One of the plan had been completed, and now, it was time to begin Phase Two. Suddenly, below the disorganized defenders, a Separatist fleet had jumped to positions below them, the majority of their guns aimed at the vulnerable underbellies of the Venators. Two Recusants, the Spear of Wak'nah and the Bow of Wuk'nah, and a Lucrehulk, the Shield of Trandosha, fired several withering volleys at the weakest of the Venators. Its shields had collapsed, and with the combined fire of the Separatist fleet above and below the ship, it had been virtually split in half, explosions flaring across its hull as it went dark. The remaining three Venators soon retreated as best as they could, to reform the formation they once had at the start of this battle. However, only two had made it to defensive positions, another ship's engines and bridge having been blown apart, a dying hulk of metal now at the mercy of the invading forces. Xossk, standing quietly on the bridge and observing the drifting mass, ordered it to be blown to pieces, and watched as the helpless Star Destroyer was blasted into stardust and debris.

The remaining two Venators were in a pathetic state, h ull marred and left ablaze in several sections. Xossk could only grin as his ships closed in, like hungering Akk Hounds after bleeding prey, thirsting to utterly wipe them out with prejudice. However, instead of the glorious showdown he had expected, both ships began to turn tail and flee, one proving slower than the other as its engines barely functioned. After enough weapons fire from Gandussk's Blade, the crippled Venator came to a stop, damaged too heavily to fight back, but the other suddenly jumped to hyperspace, fleeing towards the nearest allied fleet. Xossk could only growl lowly at how cowardly the ship's captain proved to be, and he began to move onto damage assessments. His ships, aside from Gandussk's Blade, had taken only minor damage. Gandussk's Blade had suffered only slightly worse damage, and the remaining ships had suffered, at their worst, moderate damage. Since the crippled Venator was currently motionless, Xossk signaled to Ru'nak to open holocommunications with Count Dooku.

Shimmering, ethereal blue light suddenly formed a figure, that of a man draped by a cloak, bearded and grayed, but no less deadly. Xossk bowed in respect, and then stood tall, waiting for the Honorable Count to speak…

"Commander Xossk, how is the operation proceeding?" spoke Dooku. From the look of satisfaction on the Trandoshan's face, it had been a success, but the other commander had not reported in, thus indicating his death. Disappointing. "Where is the other commander?" he asked, although Dooku already knew the answer.

Xossk's smile faded into a more neutral spoke, as the humanoid alien did his best to speak Basic. "My Lord, he iss dead. Died becausse he chosse to charge the Republic'ss sships." It was clear that Dooku was not pleased, and Xossk knew he had erred, should have arrived sooner, for he would have saved the Commander's life.

"Your inability to arrive in a timely manner has cost us a Commander, Xossk. Your failure now has me questioning whether it was worth to even gift you with your rank and position." Dooku knew too often of how arrogant his… subordinates could get, and thus, while Xossk had exceled at his task, he did not want to end up with another failure of a leader. Thus, he challenged the Trandoshan, a test to see if he could succeed and "prove" his worth. "Xossk, for your failure, you must destroy the Republic army on the planet in a week. Do not fail me." With that said, the holocommunicator cut out, and Dooku went back to checking on the other on-going campaigns.

Xossk had bowed, and then turned towards Ru'nak, his trusty adviser, now debating on what to do to conquer the surface. Each had suggested and rejected ideas, for they would take too long, or result in massive casualties. Eventually, both had their eyes turned to the crippled Venator, knowing that the communications suite was intact, and that the ground forces still had their communications synced to the one onboard the crippled vessel. Plans were hatched, ones that would secure their victory without spilling a drop of Separatist blood or oil.

* * *

As the Venator laid lifeless in the cold, dark void, a boarding craft slowly approached its ruined frame. Trandoshan Marines and Commando Droids, the former in sealed suits, now clambered up the ruined hallways. Gravity was still active, albeit weakened in some areas, such as the hanger and the mess hall. Never the less, their target was the intact bridge, which had communication systems still online, a redundancy feature that proved useful for their plans. While weapons had been brought along in-case any survivors remained, the lack of life support ensured that those still alive would have suffocated by now. Finally, the bridge was in sight, and with it, the fallen corpses of clones and officers alike, having died from the lack of oxygen. Taking only a brief look at them, the moderately-sized team finally secured the bridge, and soon began to hack the Republican communications panel.

Utilizing the codes for the terminal they had found on the corpse of a particularly thin officer, the panel was soon online, and ready for transmissions. Typing the all-clear code, the Commando Droid in charge of the operation soon gave a "Roger-Roger", signaling that they were in and now beginning communications with the Republic ground command. After requests asking for reinforcements, they were answered by a message from the Venator, putting into action the devious, horrific plan in mind for the defenders.

"Reinforcements coming in two days, all members of the garrison are to greet and welcome them."

With their work done, the team slipped back to their boarding craft, intent on making it back to the Shield of Trandosha, and readying for Phase One of the ground attack soon to come…


	4. Shifting Tides Chapter Two

Shifting Tides Chapter Two

* * *

 _ **Token System, Ferrow IV, 22 BBY...**_

Clone troopers moved in formation along the runways, rifles held in armored hands, as they awaited the arrival of the LAATs. Each soldier was bred, from the moment of their artificial concept, to be a living weapon, nothing more then another gun to be used in the blazing war that was this one, and then tossed away when deceased, replaced by more clones that would face their end as well. To Tolan, his men meant more then guns, they were his brothers in arms, and in a way that he didn't understand nor know, he was somewhat alike to the Trandoshan Warboss that sat overhead in orbit. Tolan ignored the rambling Jedi, who he did not respect, nor cared for, a Twi'lek Padawan-turned-Knight who cared only about his own ego and bragging rights, not the lives of the men under his command. Even the Separatists, who utilized a mass-produced army of unfeeling robotic sentinels, seemed to care more for their own men then the Jedi ever did. Oh, sure, there were exceptions like Skywalker and Kenobi, but even Tolan couldn't understand why he and his men could be seen as more then expendable, sentients with rights and feelings. But, it wasn't his duty to question, only his duty to serve and obey. Standing in a command center, communications to the Venator in orbit could be seen, an order simply requesting parade formations for the forces in orbit. Was today the day they finally ended the battle here, and continued on with the war's frontlines elsewhere? Privately, he hoped that something would change the outlook of the ignorant Jedi and the militants in the Senate, something that would give compassion to the boys in white.

Then, as he looked at the chronometer on the wall, he noticed something. It was already past the promised time for reinforcements. Were they late? Were the reinforcements simply ordered to turn back to their ships. He wanted to scream in protest and revulsion as the alien Jedi placed a clawed hand on his shoulder, disgustingly jovial and excited, caring little for the bloodshed that would occur.

"Commander, you seem a bit tight. Why not relax a little, enjoy some of the world's delights?" There it was, Tolan thought, the Jedi had become nothing more then a celebrity, utilizing his status to get with just about every nubile teen of the opposite gender. While his men fought and died in trenches, covered in mud and blood, this kriffin' arsehole could do as he pleased, not even sparing a second glance for those who had given their lives for this fight. Treasonous thoughts were put aside, and the Commander uneasily laughed, managing (surprisingly) to hold back his disdain and discomfort for the repulsing Jedi, as he replied finally.

"Sir, with all due respect, I have an oath to my men, to be fighting alongside with them. That we are brothers-in-arms, dying for each other, and helping to finish this war." The only reply the Commander got was laughter, mocking and cruel, assessing the lives of his men as nothing more then dirt-stains on his boots. How it made Tolan's blood boil at the suggestion, the notion, that his men's lives were inferior to this schutta trash. As Tolan bit back his tongue, and prepared a reply, something caught his eye. A reddish flash, the color of the fallen's sanguine blood, and half of the airfield was gone, most of his men ionizied in the impact. An orbital bombardment, and as Tolan twisted, yelling orders at the other clones to fall back inside the command center, a particularly large turbolaser blast struck the tower, knocking it from its mountings, and sending it hurtling to the ground. As Tolan fell against a wall, his last thoughts were of his men, hoping at least some of them survived...

* * *

Jovial cheers came from around the crew pits, as Xossk stared down at his men, unable to help hold back the grin that had cracked open his iron-like expression. The plan had went off perfectly, and now the Republic would pay for their transgressions against his home-world, starting with today. Ordering an ensign to continue until the airfield and Republic base were ashes and debris. Patting the hilt of his Trandoshan Warblade, and staring at a larger figure, his bodyguard Divuan Waei, a Trandoshan Quarantek*, cortosis-infused vibro-axe resting comfortably in his back holster, before ordering him to his private shuttle. Turning to a comms station, he asked for fleet communications to open, and once they did, he stepped carefully forward, preparing a short speech.

"Men. Today, the Republic bleeds. They may think that this is their war, but they are damned wrong. It is our war, our passion and strength are ignited by this first blow, and we shall cause a great Storm to overthrow this tyrannic, oppressive regime. Men, I ask you to prepare to invade, and assist our allies on the surface. We are now part of something greater, and I expect you, no, I believe you will do your own part to aid against our greatest enemy yet. Now, all men, to the landing craft, we will march with our combined droid-organic armies on the surface, and we will decimate any token Republic resistance they throw in our wake. Xossk, out."

With a ping, the comms station fell silent, and Xossk departed the bridge, taking an elevator to his hanger bay. Elite guards, marked by their specialized armor that was similar to his and their Maritan-Heinray Rifles** decorated in wood and black-gold furniture, saluted him, with the Warboss saluting them back. Noticing his bodyguard had already boarded the shuttle, he marched forward, as two Magnaguards accompanied him, a personal gift from Grievous, as one fellow Warlord to another. Xossk had even sent a division of his finest troops to be used as Grievous' elite shock-troops, armed with the finest weapons and armor Trandosha had to offer. Taking his seat and strapping in, the shuttle would depart, heading to the surface close-by the Republic base, followed by a fleet of transport craft and dropships, all of whom were arrayed in formation, designed to take the hit for their dear, beloved leader. It wouldn't matter anyway, seeing as how the anti-aircraft guns were currently smoking ruins, but it was the thought that counted, no? As the shuttle finally landed and the ramp extended outwards, before planting itself on the ground, Xossk stepped out, only to notice a sight far from his, possible with only the aid of his helmet's optical systems. A Twi'lek figured, bloodied and hurt, but not killed, standing hunched over, staring right at him.

Jedi Scum.

* * *

Iwob'lamel groggily awoke, his wounds painful, but not crippling. He had a busted lip and nose, one of his reddish eyes were bloodshot, and his mouth tasted like iron, but he still persisted. Angrily kicking over a dead clone trooper, whose face had prior fused with the floor due to the heat of the turbolasers, he sensed with the Force, and felt the life-signs of the Commander, Toland, wasn't it? No matter, the Jedi would fix that issue for his failure, like some Jedi did to commanders who weren't to their liking. Pushing a door open with the force, stepping out of the fallen tower, only to notice a fleet of dropships, landing craft, and shuttles landing, with the one at the fore-front disembarking a figure dressed in ancient-looking armor, a ship on his back and a slugthrower on his inner left thigh, accompanied by a giant Trandoshan with a vibro-axe and two Magnaguards. Iwob'lamel smiled toothily, and then felt for his saber, and drew it, an emerald-green blade splitting the midday air, producing a hiss. As more Trandoshans and droids followed, watching him, the sole Trandoshan dressed in armor stepped forward, before pulling free the sword from his back, pointed at the end, and ornate, lovingly hand-crafted and beautiful, like a family heirloom. The Twi'lek only wondered how much would it go for on the black market, and then grinned, settling into the Shii-Cho form, Form I, swinging his saber to hopefully spook the leader, yet the leader (was he the leader) did not even so much as twitch. Instead, he seemed to have confidence, and that unsettled the Jedi, who was used to weak, gullible targets, like the back-alley girls he sometimes drugged. Now he felt like them, nervous and afraid as time grew on...

Then, the Trandoshan finally spoke.

"It seems you remain, and of your pathetic Republic, they send me a single Jedi. You will be nothing but an aftermath when I am finished with you, Boy. I will avenge my world, starting with your death." The Trandoshan had swagger and confidence in his tone, and that irritated the Twi'lek. A retort was given, as the Twi'lek assuaged his pride, and cursed the Trandoshan heavily. Then, with a twist, the Jedi swung, only to be blocked by the Trandoshan, war-blade drawing sparks, but little else, the metal holding strong against the Twi'lek's lightsaber. Attempting to push him, Iwob'lamel attempted to reach a hand forward, only to scream as a slugthrower blast to the back of the knee crippled him. Twisting to retaliate with his blade, all he achieved was loosing his right hand, as the tendons were cut by the leader's warblade. Kicked against a piece of rubble, Iwob'lamel attempted to lift his hand, only to scream as a knife was driven through his wrist, pinning him to it. The Trandoshan lurched forward, stabbing his blade through his shoulder, and began to choke him, not enough to kill him or knock him out, but enough to disrupt his attempts to utilize the Force. Then, the Leader spoke, anger in his voice.

"Did you really think I would duel you one-on-one. You are foolish, just like your whole order, to assume I would have any honor dealing with you and your kind. No mercy was given to my people, and so shall it be for your people. Now, die like the filthy mutt you are, Jedi, or I will finish you myself, slowly, and painfully." To emphasize the words, a swipe across the eyes, and Iwob'lamel was blinded, screaming in agony as claws raked through his orbs, tearing out the optical structures, leaving bleeding holes in his face. Pulling away from his grasp, before managing a force-push, surprising the Leader, as he tore the knife from his wrist, and charged, screaming with a mixture of rage and agony, until something punched through his chest, the whine of a blaster rifle fading. His heart felt like it was gone, and as the hound of death beat at his door, Iwob'lamel gave into the sweet release of oblivion...

* * *

Tolan held the blaster rifle numbly, watching as his Jedi Commander, well, Former Jedi Commander, fell to the muddy, blood-soaked earth, and then faded away, just like his men. Turning to the Trandoshan leader, who only eyed him with the interest of a hawk, Tolan dropped the weapon, took a step forward, and realized he was still suffering from the blow to the head. Falling to the earth, he could hear a final set of words, before he passed out.

"Fetch the medic. I will question this one in person."


End file.
